


Swallow Me Whole

by seb



Series: trans dirkjohn [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aftercare, Breathplay, Domestic Fluff, Dysphoria, Eating out, Fingering, Fluff and Smut, John's a good boyfriend, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Piercings, Praise Kink, Smut, Trans Dirk Strider, Trans Male Character, baby's second smut, oh geez here we go, so bear with me here, written in a few hours
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 12:17:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12887697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seb/pseuds/seb
Summary: John is not subtle.He tries, and it's cute, but he's as blatant as can be.▬▬▬Some trans!Dirk/John smut for the Discord server & because I can't stop Fucking Projecting!





	Swallow Me Whole

**Author's Note:**

> BUFF JOHN STANS ONLY ROSE AND JONAS CAN'T READ THIS
> 
> (I'm kidding, enjoy but keep in mind this is my second smut Ever so it's, most likely not the best, okay, fuck,)  
> (Also don't let the bellybutton thing discourage you PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF FUCK it was a reference I needed to include)
> 
> Join the Discord for Live Previews of future works and fun chatter with fun people: https://discord.gg/8BMvGVX

John’s not subtle.

He tries, and it’s cute, but when he starts hiking your shirt up to rub at your hips during a movie, you know what he’s after.

“It’s hell week, dude,” you say, turning the volume up as if that’ll return his attention to the film. One he’s been wanting to watch for ages, too. You can’t believe he’d miss out on a first-time opportunity just to get his dick wet.

“Mmm,” he hums, and you roll your eyes. He’s got a dumb, fond look on his face when you glance over at him; but the desire in his eyes is unmistakable. He leans over to press his lips to your temple, another cute attempt to be subtle while his warm-ass hands make their way across your navel, flicking your bellybutton piercing.

“Dude,” you say, but it’s weak. Curse him; he knows why you got the piercing in the first place. He ate out your navel as soon as your piercing healed, and you’ve never been the same since. You’re way too sensitive, way too weak as he hits the right buttons, turning you into putty in his hands.

His hands swipe up your side, carefully avoiding your chest- binders aren’t for 24/7 use but dysphoria doesn’t follow the same schedule- and around to your back. He’s just… weirdly feeling you up, and you don’t know why you like it so much other than the fucker’s got some nice hands that you will never get tired of feeling all over your body.

“Could give you a massage,” he says, demonstrating with gentle presses against your spine.

“Damn,” you say, closing your eyes and leaning forward. “You must really want to get laid.”

He laughs, bright and sudden and loud, and you smile without your own permission.

“Nah,” he says, and you believe him. “Just want to make you feel good.” His hands linger at the small of your back, thumb tracing over the bumps of your spine. It’s intimate in a way you can’t name or place, and your love for him spills over for a quick second.

“Okay,” you choke out, dropping the remote and putting your hands on his wrists. He leans in to kiss your jaw again, making his way up to your ear. He stays true to his word when you make it to the bedroom: he lays you down, slathers you up in some fancy Victoria’s Secret lotion, and soothes the shit out of your aching and cramping muscles. You’ve never been more grateful for him, you think, not for the first time.

His half-chub does not go unnoticed when he presses against your side, but your gelatinous limbs and his soft laughter allow no more to happen than for him to nuzzle your hair, lay his arm across your back, and sleep.

▬

The next time is not so subtle. In fact, it is as blatant as can be.

He pulls you into his lap halfway through the movie, and foolishly, you follow. You start nodding off when his hand finds its way to your hair, head resting against his shoulder- all the way up until he starts kissing your neck.

“John,” you say, suddenly very, _very_ awake.

He ignores you in favor of paying his respects to your skin, licking over a spot before he attaches his lips to it and sucks. Your breath hitches and his hand slips underneath your shirt, braver than the time before, toying with the waistband of your briefs.

As soon as he moves from that spot on your neck, you push away, grappling with your shirt in a moment of unusual bravery. Shirts are kind of your thing, all the time, especially when you’re not wearing anything to keep the boys in check, but.

But John’s reaction is enough to to assuage your fried nerves, his hands roaming your abdomen and ribs, his teeth biting down onto the now-free juncture between your neck and shoulder. Your next breath leaves you in a rush and you rest your hands on his wrists, sure and steady.

“You’re such a good boy, Dirk,” he says, and you do a full-body shudder. “I didn’t even- you did that all on your own, you _wanted_ and you did it-”

You twist your head around to shut him up, lips finding his in a hurry. You let out an embarrassing groan that he swallows up as he slips his hands into your briefs and you spread your legs completely involuntarily. His knees come apart to keep your legs spread and you feel so exposed, your back enveloped by warmth but your front lit up by the TV screen, your breath coming in short, quick dashes.

He doesn’t let you silence him for long, pressing his lips to your cheekbone and your temple, murmuring praises that make you blush. He hasn’t touched you yet and it’s driving you mad, you’re flustered over nothing but his words and his barely wandering hands.

“Shhh,” he says against your ear, because of course you were babbling aloud the entire time. “I think it’s just fine. No more complaints from you.”

His hand not currently tucked desperately close to the throbbing heat between your legs comes up to your chin, his pointer and middle finger pressing against your lips, and you open as soon as you get the message. Those fingers push into your mouth, press down on your tongue until you choke trying to suck around them, and you moan, loud and unabashed.

“Fuck,” he breathes, shifting on the couch, and you feel his dick beneath your ass, probably most of the way to full mast. You’re smug, then, pushing your luck by grinding back as minutely as possible and swirling your tongue around his fingertips.

“Dirk,” he warns, low, and pulls you up against his chest. Your ass isn’t even on his crotch anymore and you feel a chill all over- damn windy boy using his damn windy powers so he can tease you all he wants but you can’t get any revenge.

You swallow and he lets you back down, settled right back into the warmth he radiates. You bob your head around his fingers and close your eyes, think about his cock in your mouth, filling you to the brim, think about how good he tastes and feels and smells, it’s all around you.

He curses under his breath again, finally slipping his hand into your briefs to slide over your cunt, and you gasp. It comes out like more of a gurgle with his fingers so deep in your mouth, and spit spills over the corner of your lips and onto your chin. Down under his hand finds no purchase, sliding through your folds easily with all the slick built up, and you can’t keep yourself from shifting in his grasp.

“Shit, you’re so wet,” he breathes into your ear, and you whine, bucking your hips into his touch. “Have you been thinking about me, Dirk? Wanting my fingers, my mouth?”

Your jaw goes slack and you run your tongue over the fingers in your mouth pushing dangerously far towards the back of your throat. You let out a soft noise, a huff as you try to get something more than just his fingers sliding against you, when his thumb tightens beneath your chin.

“ _Speak_ ,” he growls, pushing down so your mouth is forced open wider, his hand leaving your briefs and gripping your hip. It’s sticky with your own fluids and you feel your face heat up with the realization. Fuck. _Fuck_.

You grunt, nodding your head as much as you can with his fingers forcing your jaw open, drool dripping down into your lap as you do. You’re a fucking mess and you feel disgusting but _god_ do you also feel on top of the fucking world. His dick is rock hard beneath you and you grind back onto it, knowing fully well it’s going to get you in trouble. You hope he spanks you, or chokes you, or _both_.

Whatever you were expecting, it _definitely_ wasn’t for the breath in your lungs to be ripped from you suddenly, quickly, your head going light as your eyes fucking cross. You gasp just a moment later, hands reaching for your throat as you get drunk on oxygen, your mind a wreck of scattered thoughts, including but not limited to: _oh my fucking god, I think I might have just come, how did he do that so casually,_ and _pleasepleaseplease do it again_.

“Fuck,” you croak, falling back onto him. There’s heat still coiling in your gut but you’re completely boneless, at John’s mercy that he will not give.

“Answer me,” he says, digging his fingers into your hip and slipping his fingers out of your mouth, opting to cup one side of your chest instead. He pinches your nipple, fiddling with the piercing there, and you squeeze your eyes shut, grinding down on his leg. You can barely think, all you can do is move and want.

“Yeah,” you say weakly, arching your back to push into both of his hands. He’s not much bigger than you but fuck is he strong, holding you to him with little to no effort at all. That hammer really did him wonders and you are one lucky guy to be the one held down by those arms.

“Tell me,” John demands, slipping his hand back into your pesky fucking briefs, parting your labia as you rock into his hand. One finger presses against your clit, another reaching back to circle your hole, and you can’t make a coherent thought for the fucking life of you.

“You- your-” you start, ever so eloquent. You swallow again, let out a whine as he dips his finger into you teasingly. You can’t control the twitch of your hips, the way your legs shake when he spreads his fingers and you with them. “Your cock,” you say, finally, “want it, love- love you, love it, wanna taste you.”

“God, yes, Dirk,” he praises, rewarding you with two fingers, the stretch barely on the edge of pulling the wrong chords but drenching you in relief and pleasure as he rocks them into you. You moan, your hips shifting with the waves coursing through you. The hand that was on your chest slips up to your throat and _he lifts you up, fuck_ , just to drop you back down on his fingers.

You’re losing your mind, panting around every groan you let out as he manhandles you with the fucking air around you, stealing it from your lungs- _literally_ , you note, as you choke on the lack of it again when he circles his fingers through your folds. He has such good timing, you think, as he rips the oxygen from you while he teases you to the edge and lets you gulp it back in frantically when he presses another finger into you. Your throat hurts from the work and from your straggled moans, your legs are sore from pushing your weight up into John’s hands, and you’re so tired.

“Please,” you beg, desperate. “Please, John.” You don’t know what you’re begging for. Release? For him to fuck you? For him to leave bruises to go with your oxygen deprivation?

“I’ve got you,” he says, always so resourceful and knowledgeable, god are you lucky for him. “You’ve been so good, Dirk, I’ve got you.” He removes his fingers from your briefs completely and- no, that’s not what you want, _no-_ gently sits you down on the couch next to him, your underwear soaked and around your thighs.

You whine, almost pouting at him as your chest heaves and your head spins, limbs still shaking as you oh so patiently wait for him to take care of you like a good boyfriend would. He shucks off his shirt- right, he’s still wearing clothing while you’re practically naked in your living room- and pulls you in by your hair, kissing you deeply and way sweeter than you expected. He caresses your side, pulls your briefs the rest of the way off so you can spread your legs for him proper. You can see his dick through his sweatpants when he pulls away and you want it, want him, want to give yourself to him and want him to take and take and take.

He shifts until he’s over you and you lay down instinctively, back hitting the cushions while he lays claim to your mouth with his own and palms over every inch of your body with loving hands. Your legs bend at his hips automatically and he smiles against your lips, stroking down your thighs until he can tease at your cunt again, gentle touches doing nothing but making you groan petulantly.

“Shhh,” he murmurs, kissing along your jaw and down your neck, further still to tongue at your nipples- fuck- and your navel- _fuck-_ until he’s face to face with your heat. You thank every heaven and god above that you may or may not believe in when he lets out a hot breath that fans over you in a _delightful_ way, and you feel yourself getting wetter somehow.

You thread your fingers through his hair and he wastes no time flattening his tongue and running it between your labia, spreading you open with his fingers. He points his tongue at your clit and you gasp, pulling hard on his hair.

“You’re so handsome, Dirk,” he says, right into your folds, tongue flicking out to taste them. His body looks to be at an awkward angle but he hums contentedly as he works, licking and sucking at you until you’re forcing his head down, breaths coming shorter and lighter and you could swear he’s doing something to make it happen.

“My perfect boy,” he murmurs, looking up at you as he kisses _right_ over your hole, and you lose it.

Your hands tug painfully at his scalp as you come, limbs spasming, your head thrown back and mouth open in a prolonged, rough groan. Heat floods you from your core and you don’t think you’ve come apart so completely in a _long_ time. He licks you through it, warm pressure you grind against even as you come down from the high, comfort for your sore muscles. He rests his chin on the V of your hips as he waits for you to come back, holding your hands in his after untangling them from his hair.

“Dirk?” he questions, pressing a kiss beneath your ribcage. “Egbert to Strider, do you copy?”

You hum, pulling at his hands to bring him face-to-face so you can kiss him. He laughs, wiping at his mouth before pecking your lips, ever so courteous. But fuck that. You take your hands out of his, throw them around his neck, and with all the strength you can muster pull him down towards you, kissing him hot and slow.

“You know where my mouth has been, right?” he asks as you part, smile infecting all of his features with that beautiful bright spark of his.

“Mm,” you acknowledge, weak and tired. As an afterthought, you furrow your brow, bringing your legs down from where they found their way up on John’s back at some point to between his legs. You grind against his crotch with your shin and yeah, there it is, his dick warm even through two (one?) layers of clothing and straining against his sweatpants. He sucks in a breath and shoos your leg away before you can embarrass him any further by finding out some secret kink of his.

“No worries,” he says, breathless. Hah. Gotcha. “Can go… rub one out, won’t take long.” You are filled with smug pride. Yes. Fuck yes. You made him like this. You run your hands down his chest and lift an eyebrow in question.

He sighs and leans down to kiss your cheek, almost too tender after that scene. “Just wanted to make you feel good,” he says, and you could melt into a puddle in his arms right then.

“Worked,” you croak, nuzzling his cheek.

He presses a few more kisses to your face to hear you giggle- curse him- before he runs his hands down your legs and stands. You pout until he follows up with picking you up bridal style, holy shit, and carrying you to your bedroom. You lay down, untrustworthy jellified limbs and all, while he goes back and forth from the bathroom, cleaning you up with a soft, warm facecloth and giving you water to drink.

“Was it, um,” he says, wringing a dry facecloth in his hands. “Too much? The breath thing?”

You know better than to speak and fuck up your throat anymore that it is because of said breath thing, but think on it for a moment. You liked it- loved it, in fact. Loved that he knew just when to take it from you and just when to give it back, knew how much would have you on the edge of climax and what would bring you down. You give him a firm nod and a thumbs up to make sure the point gets across: YES, PLEASE DO YOUR MAGIC BREATHPLAY ON ME AGAIN SOMETIME.

He smiles, though it falters, and watches you for a moment before leaving again to get you some fruit and one of his t-shirts. You revel in how worn it is and how much it smells like him while you peel tangerines and try not to think of how he’s jerking off in the bathroom to the thought of you.

He comes back ten minutes later- _fuck_ yes- flushed and wobbly, and you offer him some “peeled cuties for the cutie.” He grins and kisses your hair over your romantic dinner date of water and tiny fruits.

When you settle down in bed with the same fucking movie that was on in the living room playing, wrapped in the arms of a man who just wants to make you happy, you think you’ve never felt so loved or belonged in a place so much than you do just then.

Not for the first time, and certainly not the last.


End file.
